


Aftermaths and Other Voltron One-Shots

by Frozen Linguaphile (Yashiko61)



Series: Aftermaths & Other Stories [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anthology, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Whump, mentions of adam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-20
Packaged: 2019-07-10 22:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15959210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yashiko61/pseuds/Frozen%20Linguaphile
Summary: An ongoing collection of various Voltron Legendary Defender oneshots, set in the same continuum as my Aftermaths fic unless otherwise noted.





	1. A Modern Sport

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first item I had ready to go as a series of oneshots I hope to do based on my first VLD fic, Aftermaths. This first instalment could probably stand alone as it's not really part of the Aftermaths universe, but I figured it didn't contradict anything so it was fine. It takes place maybe 6 months after Keith starts as a cadet.

“So, does that make a bit more sense?” Shiro asks, pushing the chair back from the mess hall table a bit and tugging the sleeves of his uniform jacket back down. Keith just gives him a sceptical look and frowns a bit at the textbook.

“I’m not really sure why we have to know about old engine mechanics. We haven’t used ones like these in decades to power aircraft,” Keith whines a little.

“Because the principles they used are still valid today. The mechanism for getting thrust and the control systems may be more sophisticated, but you still need to understand how aeronautics works to be a good pilot,” Shiro says with a smile.

Keith was starting to settle in at the Garrison academy, although it took a little work and mentoring to get him caught up on the hard sciences. Something about switching schools nearly two or three times a year meant he was still sometimes working with an incomplete basis for more advanced work. Shiro had set up a recurring study session for him, and the extra tutoring seemed to be making a big difference.

He hears his phone bleep with a reminder notification.

“Sorry Keith, I gotta run back to my room and pick up some gear before evening practice,” he says.

“Oh, okay,” Keith says with that weird tone of voice Shiro’s learned to associated with a long history of getting pushed aside for the convenience of others.

“I’d take you along but this club is restricted to older cadets and officers,” Shiro says apologetically as he shoves his tablets and notebook into the messenger bag.

“Which one is this again?” Keith asks. First year cadets were restricted from a lot of the clubs unless they had specific experience in a specialized sport for example. The idea was to give them their first year to get settled academically before they could load themselves up too much with more sport and other extracurricular activities than they could handle. Shiro had coaxed Keith into a program that covers introductions a range of martial arts with a vague hope of turning his scrappy brawls into something at least somewhat productive on the sparring mat.

“Uh, today is fencing,” Shiro says as he gets up.

“Fencing? You mean like the kendo unit we have coming up?”

“Ah no, a modified version of the European epée style.”

Keith just narrows his eyes at him. “Really?”

“Hah, well, it’s not my strongest discipline, but it means I get dedicated practice time in different things. And with my flight training kicking back up again, it’s a nice break.”

“Sorry, what is this for?” Keith still sounds totally puzzled.

“Oh, I thought you knew,” Shiro says, knowing full well that he had never really said it outright to Keith until now, “I took up modern pentathlon a while ago. Fencing is one of the disciplines.”

“What in the hell is modern pentathlon?” Keith asks incredulously.

“Language, Keith. Anyhow, I’m running late now, but go through your propulsion notes again and let me know if you have questions before your unit exam at the end of the week. See you!” Shiro says without answering him, running off.

Keith sits there stunned for a moment before pulling up a search on his tablet computer. Skimming the text, he goes from amazement to bewilderment, and back to shock. “How in the hell is this modern?” he asks himself, reading down the article.

\----

Shiro’s been busy for much of the following week, to Keith’s dismay. He wasn’t lying when he said that flight training was picking up again, and true enough, he was out flying most evenings when Keith had any free time. So late on the Friday evening, when Shiro showed up looking oddly stiff, Keith cornered him in a corner of the rec room they were meeting at and bluntly asks the question that’s been burning all week.

“So Shiro, given that we are a modern, aeronautics focused military academy,” Keith starts diplomatically, ignoring Shiro’s mildly panicked look, “Why is there a Garrison owned equestrian barn not far from the base that no one else seems to know about?”

“That is a really good question,” Shiro says carefully, trying to hide how awkwardly he plunks down on the chair at the nearby table, “The answer to which is that I am not really sure.”

Keith gives him a weird look. “Did you hurt yourself?”

‘Damn,’ Shiro thinks. “No Keith, just a little stiff. Nothing that a good long shower tonight won’t fix.”

“So how exactly did you get into this… modern pentathlon,” Keith asks with that weird intensity that still amazes Shiro.

“Uh, a friend of mine did some equestrian as a kid. And well, as cadets you learn marksmanship. Fencing is not so different from some of the martial arts I’ve studied. So we somehow got into doing this. It’s mostly really fun.”

“Mostly? That’s convincing.”

“Ah, maybe talk to me again in a couple days.”

“Why?”

“I may have gotten kicked off a horse today.”

Keith opens his mouth, stalls, then closes it with a snap.

“Yeah,” Shiro sighs, then glances at his phone as it lights up with a notification. “Uh, look, unless you need me to go over something before our next study session on Monday, I might take off.”

Keith just raises an eyebrow.

“My, er, flight partner wants to go over tomorrow’s plans.”

“Is that Adam?” Keith asks, just a little too sweetly.

“Yes,” Shiro says with a hint of hesitation.

“Is he the one that convinced you to take up the sport?”

“Let's just say that there are a few reasons."

Shiro can almost see Keith try to adjust his halo. “Oh okay, have fun then,” Keith waves on his way out of the rec room, leaving Shiro behind. He gingerly stands up, ignoring the twinge in his hips, pulls out his phone and lets it connect.

“Hey? Yeah, it's me. I'm on my way back to the quarters as soon as I can convince my body it's not broken… You're still in your gear you say? Oh my, well, I'll be there right away to, er, help you with those boots. And your pants. And you'll help me stretch my back?” Shiro looks around to make sure Keith isn't eavesdropping somewhere. “How generous. Maybe this equestrian thing won't be so bad after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found out last week that a coworker of mine actually does modern pentathlon, and I don't know what was funnier, my reaction that you can actually do this as a real recreational sport outside of the army, and her reaction when she realized that I knew what it is.
> 
> And what better than to have Pre-Kerberos Shiro sucked into this by Adam. And the promise of tight fitting riding pants. Ahem.
> 
> For those still super confused, Modern Pentathlon is so fantastically emblematic of well, late 19th century European military culture. Basically, it was someone's take on what a modern (remember, late 19th C.) Calvary officer would need in athletic skills to be effective in the battlefield: Running, Swimming, Equestrian, Marksmanship, and Sword skills. As opposed to the classical pentathlon which was five events that demonstrated skills in things considered important to Ancient Greek soldiers.


	2. Aftermaths of the Trials

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set near the end of the S2 episode The Blade of Malmora. Based on an amazing piece of art (https://v-0-3.tumblr.com/post/164844696372/bom-deleted-scene) by the very talented v-0-3.

“You should clean him up before you return to your ship,” a faceless operative tells Shiro as he moves to take some of Keith’s weight over his shoulders.

“Is there supplies in the room?” he asks in return.

“We can deliver some clean water and cloths.”

“If you have sterile bandages, we may need some. And, well, protective gloves if there are any that might fit,” he waves his free hand quickly before returning to lightly supporting Keith’s side.

“I will have someone bring what we can.”

“Thank you,” Shiro says softly, appreciative. The Blade nods, and turns to leave the room.

He guides Keith to the room where he had been sent earlier to change from the paladin suit to the one given for the trials, and levers Keith to sit at an angle on the bed. It takes a moment to find the breakpoint for the suit’s seal on the back of the nape, above where one of the purple sensors is pressing against Keith’s spine, but it opens with a pop and the feeling of cool air along the sliver of newly exposed skin elicits a small gasp.

Keith’s fingers are suddenly scrabbling at Shiro’s chest and arm armour, looking for something to grip.

“Hey, bud, give me a moment,” Shiro says, leaning him sideways against the wall while he sheds the armour on his arms and lays them next to where Keith’s suit is laid on the floor.

The door opens again, and another Blade, shorter in stature than the previous one, steps in with a container of water that barely whispers a hint of steam in the cool air, and a tray of clean washcloths and what looks like bandages in protective wrappers along with a couple other supplies. Shiro accepts it and sets the items on the bedside table, before following the Blade a step outside the room.

“Any chance you have some pain medication?” he asks. The Blade’s head tilts a little to a side.

“He is the first hybrid of this type we have encountered,” Shiro is told. “As you need to travel we would not be comfortable giving something that may not be compatible with his physiology. There is a topical spray with the supplies that should be safe, but for now there is not much else we can do.”

Shiro sighs slightly, and looks back into the room. Keith’s all but slumped sideways on the bed surface, his face etched with exhaustion and pain.

“At the least, can you bring some food? Something neutral in taste. I would like to see if we can at least get him eating something before we make the trip back. He has to pilot the lion.”

A simple nod, and they are left alone again. Shiro lets the door slide shut behind him, and he unlatches his chest plate and heaves it off, setting it too on the floor.

“Let’s see that shoulder, I guess,” he tells Keith, pulling him upright again and tugging the seal to open further down the back. He begins to peel the material away from the skin over Keith’s right shoulder, where the suit is discoloured from a heavy blow Keith took. Keith almost cries, and his left hand grabs a handful of Shiro’s flexible undersuit as a blood encrusted wound is exposed.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, gently pulling the suit over the shoulder as Keith all but pushes his face into Shiro’s abdomen. “I know this hurts.”

He tugs the suit off enough that he can help pull the right arm out of the sleeve, and after a pause, tugs the gloves of his own undersuit off and carefully pulls on the pair of protective medical gloves first over his real, and then his prosthetic hand in preparation to clean the wound that was now oozing dark, clotted blood again.

He wets one of the cloths in the warm water, and after wringing it out, gently begins to wipe around the wound, first around it, and eventually removing some of the dried clots. Keith’s hitched breaths vibrate against Shiro’s stomach, and he does his best to work quickly and smoothly. There is a small spray bottle of what he assumes is the topical painkiller, and he spritzes it over the open cut as Keith hisses at the stinging sensation.

“Let’s just see if that works for a moment,” Shiro says, “Is there anywhere else you think there is broken skin?”

Keith sort of shrugs his left shoulder. “I dunno,” is all he manages to mutter, but lets himself get pushed more upright again and balances with his right hand fisted in the bedding he’s sat on so that Shiro can pull the suit off the other shoulder.

Shiro gently pulls him to standing, weight supported under his arms, and the suit is tugged down, off his hips. He’s guided back to sitting, and Shiro quickly looks over his back and ribs before the last of the suit is pulled off his legs. Keith shivers slightly in the cool air, sweat drying uncomfortably on his skin.

“Lots of bruising,” Shiro says clinically, as Keith hisses as a tender spot on his side is prodded, “And I want Coran to check over your knees because they are both a little swollen, but I think the suit protected you from other open cuts. Let’s clean you up a little more then I will cover the shoulder, okay?”

“Yeah,” Keith says in a tired voice. Shiro wets another cloth, and quickly wipes down Keith’s limbs and back, before pulling out the undersuit and helping him into the lower half, adjusting the soft shoe supports and pulling the flexible material up to the thighs. Keith pulls himself upright again, both hands resting on Shiro’s shoulders for support and balance, and Shiro pulls the suit over his underwear and up to his midsection.

“Did the ointment help numb the cut?” Shiro asks, as he looks at the sterile bandages while Keith plops back into a sitting position with a grunt.

“A little. Maybe.”

“This just needs to hold for a couple hours at most, hopefully your chest plate will help keep it from getting hit by accident,” Shiro hums, spreading what looks like an antibacterial gel over the area. He wipes his hand, then peels the backing from an adhesive bandage, pressing it at an angle over the cut and smoothing the edges down. While it has a plastic like outer covering, he frowns a little at how the centre darkens almost immediately with a combination of blood and ointment, and he pulls out the largest bandage he can find to place over the smaller one. It’s probably overkill, but Coran can dispose of them when they return to the castle.

The door slides open again, and the same Blade who delivered the medical supplies steps in with a bowl of some sort of gruel, and three clear drinking pouch filled with a slightly pinkish liquid. “This should be gentle on the stomach, but the beverage also has sugars and electrolytes. You should be able to leave in about one varga, so please prepare to leave as soon as you can.”

“Thank you,” Shiro says appreciatively, setting the food next to Keith. The Blade leaves without another word.

Shiro helps pull the upper half of Keith’s suit on, making sure it sits properly over the bandages on the shoulder, peels off the medical gloves, and hands over the bowl of gruel. Keith takes an experimental sniff but scoops out a spoonful and takes a bite, making a small face.

“That bad, huh?” Shiro says, cracking a small smile.

“It’s just really… well it tastes as though it’s made from cardboard,” Keith sighs, but reluctantly eats some more.

Shiro makes sure that Keith is balanced on his own, and steps back to pick up the pieces of Keith’s leg armour, and starts to snap each one into place, leaving the outer boots to the side for the time. Keith has managed a few more mouthfuls of food, and sets aside the bowl, letting Shiro help him with the main chest plate and the awkward to don arm pieces.

Keith takes a few sips from the drink packet. It tastes like a slightly salty version of the sports drink that Coran gives them periodically but it soothes his throat.

Shiro’s resealed the gloves for his own suit, and hands over the overboots that Keith steps into, making sure that the ankle guard sits properly.

He accepts a hand to stand up again, and they take the unopened drink packets with them and walk out, carrying their helmets.

The leader, Kolivan, stands near the airlock, looming imposingly with his expression blocked with the mask.

Shiro simply nods briefly in acknowledgment, and guides Keith to the airlock, and after they check their helmet seals, they move out back to the red lion with Kolivan in tow.

Keith settles into the pilot seat with a tired sigh, but the controls light up around them and the system checks go quickly. Within a few minutes, the opening reappears, and they take off, Keith looking determined as they carefully clear the path with only a hint of the speed they came in with as the only compromise.

As they move towards the castle, Shiro gently places a hand on Keith’s uninjured shoulder. “Let’s get you back so Coran can assess your shoulder and let you get some rest,” he says.

Keith barely looks up, a resigned tiredness taking over his expression again. “Yeah.”

After they land in the hangar, Allura and Kolivan have a tense conversation that seems to stretch on too long. Eventually though, Shiro finally finds an opportunity to interrupt, and with Coran, guides Keith to the infirmary, leaving Kolivan and Allura to talk.

Shiro helps pull the armour and suit off again, and Coran prescribes a short stint in a healing pod - a varga at most they are told - to close up the cut and handle the worst of the bruising and inflammation, and then take a full rest period. Keith looks to protest, but eventually lets them help him into a cryo suit, and he’s frozen upright into a healing sleep just long enough for Shiro to shower and change.

The others have been warned to give Keith some space, but Hunk delivers a couple small meals just before the pod finishes the cycle, and Shiro coaxes Keith into sitting down with him to eat, before guiding him back to his room to sleep.

The blade sits, glowing faintly purple, on the table as Shiro leaves the room and the lights dim behind him.

“Rest,” is all he calls out, before the door shuts.

He walks to the rec room, and Kolivan is sitting there, alone.

“How is the kit?” he is asked. Shiro assumes he refers to Keith.

“Sleeping. The Altean technology available to us here means we can heal some of the physical wounds faster, but it doesn’t replace regular sleep.”

“Naturally,” Kolivan agrees.

“I can’t say that I really agree with how your group conducts its trials,” Shiro says diplomatically, but a hint of anger remains in his tone.

“Our methods are such because we have found it necessary. Otherwise we would not have lasted for as long as we have.”

“Do all of you come so close to death?”

“Yes,” is all Kolivan says before pausing. “It is always one of the most difficult quintants of our lives. But most of us will also look back at our trial with pride that we overcame it, because it gives us the strength to continue our ongoing mission. And it may not be today, tomorrow, or even the next decaphoeb, but the kit will hopefully come to see it as such as well.”

“I hope you are right,” Shiro says, before turning back towards the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to debrief with the princess in private.”

“Of course. Please let me know when the kit is awake.”

“It may take a while.” Shiro was loathe to wake Keith up any earlier than necessary. Heck, if they could manage 10-12 hours it would be ideal. Even for minor things, the healing pods took a lot out of you, and Keith was exhausted by the trials even before the medical treatment.

“Our situation may be more urgent than it was before you arrived at our base, but it is not that urgent. I can wait.”

Shiro decides not to respond, and is nearly out of the room when Kolivan calls out one last time: “Tell the kit he did well and his mother would have been proud.” Shiro doesn't turn around to face Kolivan, but allows himself a small smile as the door closes behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of nowhere, work has been a special kind of insanity / hell / crazy for the last week or so, and I consequently had zero mental capacity to write aside from what I do professionally for most of that time, so it took a while to find a few quiet hours where I could get into the right mindset again, and I decided to focus on a one shot that I had in mind for a while instead of trying to pick up my WIP. I did start plotting more that will be directly tied to Aftermaths but it will likely not be until next week that I'll have time for proper writing again as I head out of town for a conference this weekend (6am flight ewwwww) and they have really packed the agenda.


End file.
